


I built this suit of armor with wooden arms

by VolxdoSioda



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 12:52:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16086497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolxdoSioda/pseuds/VolxdoSioda
Summary: He can't be Prince Noctis anymore.





	I built this suit of armor with wooden arms

_"Dad, how come we gotta wear so many fancy clothes all the time?"_

_Regis chuckles from where he's shaving in the mirror, Noctis barely high enough to peek over the sink at him._

_"Because my boy, these clothes are our armor. It keeps us safe in the midst of battle. When we walk these halls, when we greet our enemies at the door, we want them to look at us and think 'here is a man capable of much'. We wear the clothes to hide our wounds, to disguise our fears, to protect us when all else fails."_

_Noctis wrinkles his nose. "Can't we just tell them to go away?"_

_Regis laughs, putting down his razor. "If only, my boy. If only."_

 

**_0-0-0-0-0-0-0_ **

 

"There's one last thing your father left me to give to you, Prince Noctis."

It's late at night at the Outpost. Gladio and Ignis and Prompto are already inside the camper, sound asleep. Noctis was too, until he woke from a nightmare about his dad bleeding out in his arms.

Evidently, despite the tears he's already shed today, the grief is not ready to leave. He feels tired, drained all the way down to the bottom of his soul, but he knows that despite his grief, despite everything, they have to keep going. They don't have a choice anymore.

His dad played the game, lost, and now it's up to Noctis to pick up what's left of his losing hand and make it a winner.

Cor's approach is soft, almost hesitant, were it not for the bundle he's holding in his hands. Noctis lays eyes on it, and immediately flinches, turning his gaze away.

It's proof he's no longer a Prince. Can no longer be allowed to continue traveling as  _Prince Noctis._

"Is this really necessary?" Noctis asks. Maybe if he just badgers Cor enough, maybe if he acts enough like a brat, the man will get tired and go away.

He won't though. And Noctis... despite everything, despite what's happening, how he feels like he's wildly spiraling out of control, and the little voice whispers in the back of his head  _I don't want to do this,_ he knows he can't turn away. 

"Do we have to do this now?" he asks.

Cor gives him a patient, understanding look. It breaks something in Noctis, something that's been barely clinging on to sanity with teeth and toes. 

"Now is the only time we will have to do it, my liege," Cor says softly. "And I promised your father when the time came, if Clarus was not around to do this, I would."

The act of putting on the suit in Cor's hands isn't just like putting on another piece of armor. It's the act of effectively crowning a Prince, making him a King. Cor, as the remaining Knight of Insomnia, holds the honor of helping him into his first piece of armor as King if the King's Shield is not around to do it.

And Gladio is not a King's Shield - he is the  Shield of Prince Noctis. When dawn wakes, he will be a King's Shield -- but before that, Noctis must take up the mantle.  

He closes his eyes. Gives himself a moment to grieve one last time, because after this - after he puts on this suit, he must bundle all that away. Must keep going even when it's agonizing to do so.

He takes in a deep breath, and stands. "Do it."

 

**_0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0_ **

 

Cor's hands are deft and practiced as he carefully strips Noctis of his fatigues, folding each dusty and dirty piece of clothing with care. Noctis watches the blue glow of the magic lines on the haven's rocky ground, and uses the pulsing sensation beneath his feet to time his breathing. In another time, this would have been done in a private setting, between himself, his father, Cor, Clarus, Gladio, Ignis and Prompto. Clarus would have stripped him of old armor, and piece by piece remade him into a King. At the end, his retainers would follow suit, and come to stand beside him.

His father would give them a blessing, and then remove his cloak, and sweep it around Noctis' shoulders to complete the image. Twenty, thirty minutes tops for the whole ceremony, and then at the next meeting Noctis would have been sitting where Regis sat, with Ignis and Gladio and Prompto on either side of him, and nobody would have acted like it was anything new or interesting.

There is none of that here. Just him and Cor beneath the night sky, as Cor slides each piece of clothing onto him, and Noctis can feel the magic in the fabric, old and dedicated and strong even after all this time. His dad had told him once that the suits made for each King were made when they were born, by weaver women who knew of a very old type of thread magic, a secret passed down from mother to daughter. The suits would give protection and amplify magic, make it harder for the Kings to fall ill or be hit by things like poison. He feels it now, the magic slowly feeding itself into his own channels, recognizing and identifying him. 

Cor ties the tie, patting it down beneath the vest. And then comes the final piece. The jacket. 

"Cor," Noctis says, as the man puts the jacket on him, and then shifts around his front to button it up. "Can I really do this?"

The last button is done up, but Cor keeps his hands there, over his chest. Over his heart. "Yes." He smooths a hand down the front, tugs on the ends to straighten it. "You can. Because you are your father's pride and joy, and from birth until now, you have never balked at your responsibilities. You pushed yourself, and did what was asked of you, and have grown into a magnificent young man as a result. Regis was proud of you. So was Clarus. And so am I."

Cor looks him dead in the eye. "And that's why you're going to do this. Because the kingdom needs you, because your people need you, and because at the end of the day there will be people who are proud of you no matter what."

He steps back, and kneels, bowing his head. His voice rings out in the darkness.

"Hail his Majesty, 114th King of Lucis, King Noctis Lucis Caelum. Glory be to you, Majesty, who bears the burden of so many. May your years be long, your reign glorious, and your judgement kind."

And for a second as the sun crests the hills to the east, Noctis thinks he sees something. For a second, he isn't here at the outpost with Cor kneeling before him, but back in Insomnia before his father. His father is watching him, and his eyes are burning with pride as Cor speaks. 

Regis walks forward, sweeping his cloak off with a grand gesture, and shifts it around Noctis' shoulders. The weight is heavy, but he can bear it. 

 _"Hail, and glory be to you,"_  Regis says, and he smiles.  _"My son."_

Then he blinks, and it's just him. But there's a lightness in his chest that wasn't there before, a feeling of hope - a feeling of confidence.

"Thank you, Cor."

Cor looks up, and Noctis thinks he sees tears. "No, Noctis. Thank  _you."_

 _I can do this,_  Noctis thinks as he and Cor head back to the caravan. 

 _No,_ he thinks again, later, when Cor and Monica are gone and the others come outside, yawning. He's waiting for them at the table, legs crossed as he watches the sun rise.

He hears them come to a sharp stop, and turns his head. Gladio and Ignis' eyes are wide and even Prompto's mouth has dropped a little. They know what it means, that he's wearing this suit instead of his fatigues. And as he watches, Gladio's spine straightens, and Ignis shakes himself. Prompto's mouth snaps shut. 

Noctis stands, feeling each thread of silk move with him as he does. His armor for the war ahead. "Ready to go?"

_**We**  can do this._


End file.
